Page 69 of Captive Audience
I’d spent most of the day ignoring Rook’s demand that I sleep in his bed, but I couldn’t avoid facing it any longer. I didn’t care what he said; I wasn’t having it.
There was no way in hell I’d return to that mattress. To the sheets that held his scent. To the memories of his hands on my skin, his mouth at my neck, whispering things like he meant them.
Before everything had changed.
The betrayal still burned in my chest, sharp and ugly.
So, fine. If Rook insisted I stay nearby, he’d just have to deal with me sleeping on the damn floor.
I snatched a few cushions from the sofa and some blankets from a linen closet and made myself a decent little nest between Rook’s bed and the window.
Next, I rifled through my belongings in the walk-in closet, looking for a pair of pajamas. Everything was arranged neatly in racks and custom cabinetry. I tried not to overthink the reactions of Rook’s men when they’d found the stash of adult toys in my nightstand drawer, because I doubted my favorite gadgets had gone unnoticed.
Strange. I couldn’t find the comfortable sleepwear I usually opted for—loose cotton pants and a cami—only a few silk slips.
Nice try, jerk.
If Rook had purposely left my cozy pajamas at my apartment, thinking I’d slide into something sheer and revealing just for him, he was dead wrong. I opted for an oversize Temple University tee and a pair of black bike shorts instead.
I washed my face, brushed my teeth, then tucked myself into my makeshift bed, half expecting Rook to walk in and grumble about my disobedience. But he didn’t show, and despite my anxiety over sleeping in a mobster’s apartment, I fell asleep quickly.
I wokewith a start when my blanket was torn away. Warm arms scooped me up.
Rook.
“What are you doing?” I groaned.
“Putting you to bed.” He tossed me onto the mattress.
I pushed up on my elbows and glared at him. Rook stood at the side of the bed, shirtless and with water still glistening at the tips of his hair. A damp curl slid down his brow, framing those ridiculously carved cheekbones.
The sight of him made my breath catch and an unwanted tingle stir in my belly.
Damn him for being so stupidly hot.
“Stay.” He pointed at me as if I were some unruly mutt.
I sneered. “I’m not your dog.”
“No. Dogs are far more obedient and less troublesome than you.”
Wiseass.
I’d show him trouble.
I made a move for the edge of the bed.
He lunged, caught me around the waist, and hauled me to the center of the mattress. And then we were chest to chest, him over me, his big body caging mine.
“Must you fight me on everything, woman?” he bit out.
“Must you always be a bossy asshole?”
“Aye, and I have no intention of changing.”
I twisted beneath him and aimed a knee at his groin. He dodged it and wedged himself between my thighs.
“Rook,” I said firmly.
